


Fever

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: Family Omens [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is good with kids, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Kidfic, M/M, Multiple Perspectives, Sickfic, Soft Aziraphale, Sweetness, They love each other, silliness, soft Crowley, they have a three-year-old daughter, they love their daughter, this one's just full of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale's daughter has the flu.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Family Omens [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592314
Comments: 28
Kudos: 114
Collections: My favorite AU fics





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilee/gifts).



> This is a gift for Emilee; the request was for a story in which Crowley and Aziraphale have a daughter, Eden (I absolutely love that name btw), and she came down with the flu. Hopefully this is sufficiently soft, Emilee, and I hope you're doing well!

“She’s hot.” 

Crowley leaned against the doorframe. Aziraphale was crouched by a bed in the corner of the room, hand hovering over the forehead of a little girl; the girl had her blankets bunched in fists and flung over her head, and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Crowley feigned distaste with all his might as he watched Aziraphale fret.

“What do you think?” he said, folding his arms. “Some bit of demonic nature acting up? If she’s about to spout hellfire, you might want to step away.”

Aziraphale missed the sarcasm in Crowley’s tone. “I don’t think it’s a demonic phenomenon.”

“What, think it’s angelic then?” Crowley watched Aziraphale gently pry the girl’s arms apart and stroke her sweaty hair back from her forehead. “Some sort of - of holy light she’s manifesting?”

“I rather think,” said Aziraphale, “she has the flu.”

This pronouncement took Crowley aback. Eden was an extraordinary child in many ways - half demon, half angel, something they were both pretty sure had never happened before - but in all the extraordinary things that had happened since she’d arrived on their door in that basket, there had been nothing so commonplace as a human sickness.

“Who’d have given her the flu?” Crowley said, as Aziraphale wrapped Eden’s blanket tighter around her. “We don’t carry germs, do we?”

“I’m sure _I_ don’t,” said Aziraphale primly.

That got a laugh out of Crowley. Handling dusty hundred-year-old manuscripts all day, and the bastard had the nerve to imply _Crowley_ was the dirty one. But he also drew away from the doorframe and closer. If it was really the flu, there was nothing to worry about.

“It’ll pass in a week,” he said. “That’s what happens with humans, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale bit his lip. “I hope so.” 

“Don’t go worrying about her now, angel.” Crowley looped his arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him close, making him stop fretting over Eden for a moment. Aziraphale turned willingly to sink into his arms. Their foreheads leaned together for a moment, Crowley breathing in Aziraphale’s warm breath, before their lips met. 

“I do worry,” Aziraphale murmured. “You know, I’ve been responsible for every human being ever to walk the Earth, but it’s a bit different with her.”

“I wasn’t responsible for anyone until she came along,” Crowley laughed. Then he kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “Except you.” 

_____

Aziraphale didn’t open the shop that day. He felt it was a somewhat momentous occasion, their daughter coming down with her first human ailment - though he didn’t necessarily require a momentous occasion to close his bookshop. He never had, but since Armageddon had failed to happen his time had been consumed by other things more than ever. Crowley moving in, and a hundred nights and mornings spent curled up next to him in bed; meals eaten out together as they scoured the city for fine dining; long walks in the park, warm evenings spent stargazing. And then, three years ago, the arrival of a baby at their door. Wrapped in a gold blanket and with a little note affixed to the handle, reading simply _Good job stopping Armageddon. -G._

Somehow, they’d both had the feeling the baby hadn’t been sent by Gabriel. And when they’d discovered she was an angel-demon hybrid, well, there wasn’t a long list of suspects for who could create such a child. It had, however, taken a substantial period of time to cajole Crowley into admitting that, yes, in an idle moment, _perhaps_ he’d sent his thoughts skyward and wished for a daughter.

Aziraphale put a pot of water on the stove for soup before starting to make tea. 

“Chicken noodle?” said Crowley idly, searching the pantry. 

“That does seem rather the thing.” Aziraphale winced as he heard her coughing from the bedroom. He could swear his hearing was better where Eden was concerned, though his angelic senses had always surpassed human ones. “I do hope she isn’t terribly cold.”

“Soup’ll warm her up.” Crowley passed Aziraphale a can. 

“Should we be giving her medicine?”

“Think it’s just rest she needs.” 

Aziraphale’s hands moved distractedly around him. The water wasn’t hot enough yet, but he wanted to do something. “Maybe I should give her another blanket. We still have that golden one she was wrapped in when she came, and I think it had some angelic magic in it…”

Crowley regarded Aziraphale for a moment, seeming to be making a decision. Then he moved over toward the stove. “I’ll mind the soup. You go and fetch it.”

Aziraphale was grateful for something to do. He hurried out of the kitchen, making for the closet where the blanket had been stashed. Sure enough, when he pulled it out, it was still warm, still faintly glowing. Three years and the light within it hadn’t faded. Yes, Aziraphale knew of only one being with that kind of power. 

He bustled back into the bedroom. Eden had drawn her blanket tighter around her, but otherwise hadn’t moved. When Aziraphale approached, she started coughing again, and Aziraphale was careful as he wrapped the blanket gently around her. He ran a soft hand through her bright red curls. 

“Shh, darling,” he whispered. “You’re all right.”

Eden opened her eyes. They were bright blue, like his. It still made him smile every time he saw them. In six thousand years of being Heaven’s disappointment, he’d never imagined being so proud of seeing a child who looked like him. 

“Papa,” she said, her voice thin. 

“It’s me.”

“Where’s Daddy?” 

“He’s making you some soup. I just came to check on you, to see if you were warm enough.” Aziraphale kissed her on the forehead, one hand on her shoulder, and stilled as one arm came up to wrap around his. “I got out your old baby blanket for you.”

“Not a baby,” Eden said defiantly. She held his round hand with her smaller one. “I don’t need a baby blanket.”

Aziraphale smiled. “What would you like, then, to stay warm?”

Her other hand found his waistcoat, bunching the fabric into her fist to pull him closer. “I wanna cuddle.” 

Well. He was an angel of the Lord; who was he to refuse her? 

_____

Crowley brought up the soup when it was ready. He’d been prepared to find Aziraphale whirling around the room in a frenzy of nervous activity, changing the temperature, trying to keep her both warm and cool at once, possibly reading up on the history of influenza - dear Someone, he hoped Aziraphale wasn’t doing that - and doing his best to keep calm for Eden’s sake. What he saw instead made him have to pause in the doorway again, leaning against the frame.

Aziraphale was in the bed, with Eden snuggled up against his side. She’d curled around him so her head was resting on his belly. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but Crowley knew she wasn’t asleep. 

Aziraphale’s arm was draped loosely around her, and he was looking down at her with an expression that could have melted the heart of every demon in Hell.

“Soup’s on,” Crowley said weakly as he entered the room. “Hey, angel.”

Eden’s eyes opened. They lit up when she saw Crowley. “Daddy!”

“How’s my favorite little potted plant?” Crowley crossed the room in two strides and knelt next to her, holding up the steaming bowl of soup. “Ready to be watered?” 

“I’m not a plant!” Eden protested, but she was smiling, her cheeks gaining color as she giggled. “I don’t need to be watered!”

“Oh, you’re a stubborn plant. You know what I do to my stubborn plants?” Crowley poked Eden gently in the belly as she continued to giggle. “You want me to stick you down the garbage disposal?”

“You _won’t!_ ” 

“You don’t know what I’m capable of. I’m a big, nasty demon.” Crowley bared his teeth and showed off his yellow eyes. 

He’d only known two people, in his entire life, to not recoil at the sight of his eyes; the first had been Aziraphale, of course, who’d encouraged him to remove his sunglasses behind closed doors, who’d told him over and over again as they lay together late at night that all of him was beautiful. The second, whose eyes were normal and sea-blue like her angel father’s, was Eden. Eden loved the sight of Crowley and always had. Even with Aziraphale in his life, Crowley didn’t think he’d ever get used to that. 

“Dear, don’t get her excited,” Aziraphale said with a disapproving frown. “She needs rest.”

“Papa’s no fun,” Crowley confided to Eden as he fed her a spoonful of soup. “How’s it taste, potted plant?” 

“Good.” Eden shifted her position, nuzzling further against Aziraphale. “Papa, move over. I wanna cuddle Daddy too.”

Crowley swallowed, hard, in a half-successful attempt to mask the swell of emotions in his chest at the words. Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled as he shifted over, pulling Eden over next to him to give Crowley room to clamber in beside them. Crowley managed to keep the bowl of soup from spilling as Aziraphale drew the blanket over all three of them, keeping Eden’s golden blanket wrapped around her.

“Now you’re going to be warm for sure,” Crowley told her, settling the soup onto his lap. “Open up.”

Eden took another bite of soup and then snaked her arms around Crowley’s waist. Crowley had even greater difficulty quelling his desire to cry this time around. It wasn’t fair for her to be so adorable. It had to be some kind of crime. She was part-demon, after all - but that thought didn’t go far. Half of her was Aziraphale. There was no way she could be anything other than perfect. 

“Budge up,” Crowley managed. “You can’t eat your soup like that.” 

When he looked up, he noticed Aziraphale was looking at him. And - oh, this family was heaven-bent on killing him today - that look of infinite fondness, which had nearly cracked his heart open viewed from the doorway, was now directed entirely at him.

“You must know,” said Aziraphale softly, “that I’m not going to let you get away with being kind to me.”

Crowley went red and looked away. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were watching me panic in the kitchen, and you told me to go and get the blanket while you watched the soup.” Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on Crowley’s arm. “You must have expected I’d pay you back for that.”

Crowley shut his eyes and growled. He knew what was coming. He knew he couldn’t object, because, bless it all, it had been years since the failed Armageddon and Aziraphale knew perfectly well that he liked it. 

“You’re such a kind person, Crowley.”

He groaned. “Yes. Great. Rub it in.”

“I certainly shall.” Aziraphale sounded smug.

“Bastard.”

“Crowley! Not in front of Eden.”

“Bastard,” said Eden proudly, and that was what did Crowley in. He shoved the soup into Aziraphale’s hands and wrapped his arms tight around Eden, cradling her close as she started up her giggling again.

“You’re my favorite daughter in the whole world,” he whispered.

“Am I your favorite plant?”

“The rest can’t compare.” 

It had taken a long time for Aziraphale to make him admit he’d wished for a child. But the very first night Eden had arrived - after the initial shock and confusion and unpleasant memories associated with finding a baby in a basket at his door - when Aziraphale had been away in another room and Crowley had found himself holding her, he’d whispered the truth into her ear. He hadn’t wanted a single day to go by in which she didn’t know it. And the baby Eden had smiled up at him, as if she understood him already. 

_____

Music was playing from some undefined location when Eden finished her soup. It was one of the songs Daddy loved, from the singer he called _Freddie_. Eden couldn’t hear the words, though, over the slow, deep sound of Papa’s voice reading. 

Daddy had fallen asleep, one arm still around her, sunglasses still on, but askew on his face. Eden nestled further into his side. Papa was close by on her other side, one large, warm hand on her hair. With her fathers around her she didn’t feel cold.

Eden didn’t know that she was half-angel half-demon. She didn’t know the secret of her creation, nor that she’d been a token of celebration for a world that had very nearly ended. She knew only in a vague way that Papa was an angel, and in a much vaguer way than that that Daddy was a creature of the bottomless Pit. These were things she’d need to be much older to truly comprehend.

What she knew, as she felt herself drift off to sleep, as she heard Papa stop his reading and lean his head against Daddy’s shoulder, was that she had the best family in the world. That was something it wasn’t hard to put together.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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